


mr. perfect

by gealbhan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, House Party, M/M, Post-Canon, one very vague blink-and-you'll-miss-it mention of iwaoi, past suga/oc, roommates oisuga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: Koushi chews his lip, and grabs the stranger's hand. The stranger jumps and tilts his head down, mouth parted in surprise. Koushi lifts his other hand, a few more drops of questionable booze spilling.
“I know we don't know each other but I really need to ask,” he says in one breath, eyeing where Yoshida is making his steady approach and elbowing through the crowd, “will you pretend to make out with me?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN i started thinking about ushisuga and i couldnt stop. someone needs to stop me
> 
> also i know roommates oisuga is such a cliche (at least in iwaoi fic it is idk if it applies here) but im weak lmao
> 
> disclaimer im not a uni student and i dont have any plans to go to college atm, its not really focused on the college aspects just the house party part but :B

Sugawara Koushi has a problem.

For some time, he's been wondering why he hadn't requested a different roommate the second he walked in to find Oikawa Tooru. All the reasons he's complied—sings too loudly in the shower, parties when Koushi is trying to study, keeps rubbing Seijoh's continuous victories over the new Karasuno in Koushi's face, thousands of others—pale in comparison to this.

“Kou-chan,” Oikawa had said, wearing that saccharine grin and shoving Koushi out of their dorm despite Koushi's insistence on digging his feet into the ground, “you need to get out and have some fun! You're becoming a recluse. When's the last time you went out for fun? When you were dating what'shisface before you dumped him? That was over two months ago!” He'd clapped Koushi, hard enough to make him choke, on the back, and that's when Koushi started planning revenge in the future.

Actually, it'd been two months and six days, and Yoshida had broken up with Koushi, not the other way around. He never intends on telling Oikawa that, though—part one of his revenge, if you could call it that.

He clutches a red solo cup, frothing with a dubious tan liquid (the mixer had winked and called it “orange juice”). Instead of taking a sip, Koushi squeezes the cup, and it goes _crunch_. A few drops slosh out, narrowly missing the couple making out to Koushi, who shoot him dirty looks and slink off.

Remixes play from a set of speakers near the front of the room, electronic and loud and making Koushi's head pound. Oikawa had ditched him as soon as they'd come in, and Koushi can't see him.

He sighs and sinks further into the wall. He's almost on top of the snacks table, where everyone's already stopped on their way to the makeshift dance floor. He'd managed to snag a dark hat before Oikawa dragged him out, so he should blend in if no one looks too close beneath the blinking strobe lights.

Koushi crosses his arms and uncrosses them again. He steals a handful of cheese-covered Cool Ranch Doritos from the table, and stuffs them all into his mouth.

It's a bad idea. They don't taste good, leading to Koushi choking and spitting a mess of salty, cheesy crumbs into his palm. He wipes his palm on the nearest napkin, glaring at anyone who edges even a little into his personal bubble. Why hadn't he come up with some sort of excuse, like the homework Oikawa knows he'd finished two days ago, or a new boyfriend, or—

A familiar set of eyes meet Koushi's, across the room, through the jigsaw puzzle of people weaving and swaying together. Koushi almost chokes again.

Okay. No time to wonder about new boyfriends, not when his old one is looking right at him. There's no question as to whether he can recognize him even from a distance—his eyes (Koushi had always liked his eyes: very green, very striking) widen. In the haze of the crowd and flashing lights, Koushi thinks he sees him mouth, _Suga?_

Great. He's moving towards him _oh god what do I do_ —

Koushi's eyes lock on the nearest person, who seems to be another reluctant wallflower, watching someone with spiky red hair. He has a good four inches, if not more, on Koushi, even slouching to avoid the low ceiling. His face is closer to the ceiling, obscured in shadows. What Koushi can see of him, in detail, is muscled and solid and thick.

Koushi chews his lip, and grabs the stranger's hand—his must be clammy and icy. The stranger jumps and tilts his head down, mouth parted in surprise. Koushi lifts his other hand, a few more drops of questionable booze spilling.

“I know we don't know each other but I really need to ask,” he says in one breath, eyeing where Yoshida is making his steady approach and elbowing through the crowd, “will you pretend to make out with me?”

Handsome Stranger stares at him. Standing as he is, Koushi can just make out the outline of his eyes, shadowed by his thin hair. After a beat, he says, “Sure,” close to Koushi's ear and in a deep and almost familiar voice.

Koushi doesn't have the time to think about how he recognizes the rumble, getting up on his tiptoes to press his open mouth to Handsome Stranger's. His lips are surprisingly soft, carrying the vague taste of cheap beer and onions. Koushi drops his hand to tug him down by the broad shoulder. Handsome Stranger's large hands drift, awkward, to Koushi's waist.

He doesn't kiss back, exactly, but his mouth opens underneath Koushi's, and he leans into it, Koushi's tongue sneaking between his teeth. Koushi squeezes his eyes shut—this close he can almost blank out on the distant smell of vomit and the undeniable party roar making his ears ring. Handsome Stranger, despite not really doing much, is a much better kisser than Koushi's last two boyfriends at least.

Speaking of—

“Suga?” comes Yoshida's voice, more a squeak.

Koushi peels back with an exaggerated smack. Handsome Stranger's hands fall off his hips, and Koushi tries not to miss it too much. “Mmm...? Oh—oh!” He laughs, fake nervous, and rubs his neck, fake embarrassed. “Hey, uh, Yoshida. It's nice to see you?” He offers a shaky smile.

“You—” Yoshida falters. He smiles back, after a stiff beat. Handsome Stranger says nothing—it might be Koushi's imagination, but he might lean a little closer against his side. “Yeah, ah—you too. I'll leave you to it.” He waves a hand, eyes still wide. He'd been the one to end things, so why is he acting all heartbroken now, anyways?

Koushi sighs as soon as he's out of sight, shoulders slumped. He bows towards Handsome Stranger, who startles back against the wall. “Thank you thank you thank you.” He peeks up, and offers his hand. He's still sweating, maybe. “Sorry! I should've at least introduced myself, huh? Sugawara Koushi.” He smiles; the one Oikawa refers to as his _most refreshing_ smile.

Handsome Stranger gives a soft _ah_. “Karasuno's vice-captain.” Koushi tilts his head up, opening his mouth to add _yes, how did you know_ —“Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

Koushi's mouth snaps shut. He's aware of Ushijima shaking his hand, palm calloused and warm and soft against Koushi's, but he's too busy wondering why the fuck he didn't recognize Ushijima Wakatoshi. It's not like Ushijima is someone who easily blends into the crowd. Koushi almost smacks himself in the face before remembering he's holding a half-empty plastic cup in one hand and Ushijima's hand in the other.

“Ah,” echoes Koushi, “it's nice to meet you again, then, Ushijima-san.”

Ushijima nods. “You as well, Sugawara.”

His voice really is deep, thinks Koushi dreamily. He squints. Ushijima's head tilts down at him, in silent question. Had Koushi taken a sip or three and forgotten? He glances up and offers a smile, eyes catching on Ushijima's muscles, visible through an unbuttoned letterman and the thin T-shirt beneath, and the mouth that had been so soft under his—

Oh, no.

“Thanks,” says Koushi again. He scrounges for something else to say that is not _could we do that again but for real, maybe_.

Ushijima drops his hand, which hangs limp in the air between them before Koushi remembers himself and slips it into his jean pocket. He bounces up on his tiptoes again, to meet Ushijima's eyes on a closer level. This close, he can make out contrasting flecks, but not the exact colors, reflecting the changing strobe lights. He lays a hand flat across Ushijima's bicep, leaning into him like a trophy wife, and thinks.

“Do you have your phone on you, Ushijima-san?”

It's not the newest trick in the book, but dammit he's going to drink whatever's in his cup before he lets Ushijima walk out. Logically, they'll have to run into each other sometime in the next three and a half years, if they're going to the same university, but—

Oikawa had told him to _have fun_ , after all. Though Koushi's not sure he'd approve of whom with.

Ushijima blinks. “Yes.”

Koushi mimics it, tapping his chin like a wise old sage or something. If his old teammates could see him, they'd laugh in his face. “Can I give you my number?”

“I would like to speak with you more,” says Ushijima, glancing around, “but not in this setting.”

Koushi swallows a grin. That's what he'd been hoping to hear. Ushijima digs around in his jacket pockets for a moment, taps at his screen, then hands over his phone, opened to the contacts app. Koushi types in his number with one finger, grinning up at Ushijima. Is he leaning closer?

A little giddy, Koushi saves himself as **suga!~ ☆** (good god he's spent too much time with Oikawa) and dumps the phone back into Ushijima's open palm. More confident than he feels—it's Oikawa's influence, he'll insist later, Oikawa guiding him from the afterlife or wherever the fuck he is right now—he slides a hand up Ushijima's arm. Looking up beneath his eyelashes, he flashes a silvery grin he's definitely picked up from Oikawa.

Ushijima leans forwards into the touch, eyes fluttering shut and open again. Tilting up so his breath ghosts across Ushijima's ear, Koushi murmurs, “Call me tonight, Ushijima-san.”

He takes a grounding step back. Ushijima blinks again, and says, “I will, Sugawara-san.”

Koushi laughs and pats his bicep. Inside, he thinks he's ready to spontaneously combust, but before, he'd thought maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi was a perfect, emotionless, super ace. Now that he knows he's probably not, he's more than a little endeared, so he keeps up the flirty look. Ushijima can't see him blushing really hard under the strobe lights, after all.

“Suga is fine,” he says. Even if he wasn't hitting on Ushijima, he might say this anyways—the words aren't flirty, necessarily, since everyone does (except Oikawa and his _Refreshing-kun_ for two weeks that soon evolved into _Suga-chan_ and then _Kou-chan_ ). How he says them? Oh, now that's flirty.

Oikawa would be proud. (Well, if it weren't Ushijima.)

Ushijima blinks, and actually smiles. It's small but it's there. Koushi kind of feels like fainting. Soft, Ushijima says, “I'll call you, Suga.”

Koushi clears his throat, looking away with his pleased flush climbing down his throat. He sets his cup down on the table—it's not like he was going to drink it anyways—and pretends he's not shaking. “See you,” he says, and flits away.

It's a mistake as soon as he steps into the crowd, lost in a sea of disgusting people smelling of beer and other questionable liquids and sweat, but his feet might not be touching the ground. All the way, anyways. Still, one question sticks in his mind above all else—

_Where the hell is Oikawa?_

  


(He finds him not five minutes later, after he steps towards the wall nearest the door. Or, well, Oikawa finds him, stumbling out of the crowd with what Koushi thinks is lipstick smeared across his cheek. His hair is ruffled but still as perfect as can be—months ago Koushi had been appalled to find he didn't use any conditioner or gel or anything.

Koushi doesn't ask about the lipstick, not sure he'd want to know the answer. It's probably nothing like one of his many fangirls unless he'd had one planted on him—for all Koushi knows, it's Oikawa's own, or maybe even from Oikawa's boyfriend who's only a little less muscular than Ushijima.

Oikawa claps his hands together. “Sorry, Kou-chan,” he chirps, with a flippant grin. He seems to be genuine about it, even so, something like actual remorse in his look. Koushi tugs at his hat. “You seemed to be having fun, though. Who was that?”

“Oh,” says Koushi. He shuts his eyes, and prepares for the bomb to go off, and says, hurried, “Ushijima.”

Oikawa screeches. As he shoves open the door, he rants about how _dreadful_ and _terrible_ and _brutish_ Ushijima—or Ushiwaka-chan—is and he can't believe _he's swindled you, Kou-chan, I really thought you had better taste than this_ —

That's a blatant lie, at least. Oikawa has seen all of Koushi's last boyfriends. Ushijima, no matter how much Oikawa hates him, is tame in comparison.

Still, though, Koushi smiles the whole walk back to their dorm.)

  


(Ushijima doesn't call him that night—for the better, as Koushi starts ranting back once they reach their dorm, and then goes straight to bed. He does, however, call Koushi in the morning, and a hungover Oikawa pretends to retch over his scrambled eggs while Koushi flirts as blatantly as humanly possible.

His face is still burning when Ushijima suggests a coffee date, though, and Oikawa's exaggerated gags turn into shrieks of laughter.

Koushi throws a spatula at him.)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://spaaaaarrow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> please leave kudos and/or comment if you liked!!


End file.
